Worth the Ride
by Imadra Blue
Summary: Most people wouldn't expect a relationship of any sort relationship to develop between Scott Summers and Bobby Drake. They didn't really expect it either, but these sort of things don't come with schedules, instructions, or even advance warning. Slash.


**Pairing:** Cyclops/Iceman  
**Disclaimer:** X-Men and sundry belong to Marvel Comics, who've used and abused these poor mutants more than I ever will.  
**Notes:** A series of six individual stories written for two separate comms. Now that the series is complete, I'm posting them all together and in order. I am not including any possible _X-Men 3_ canon solely because it hasn't been released yet. Additional notes at the end.

. . .

**Title:** A Moment of Clarity  
**Timeline:** Takes place between the first and second movie.

. . .

There is, at times, a moment of clarity, a perfect understanding of something that occurs, even as it happens. These moments of clarity are rare within creatures as complex as human beings, especially in the less self-aware humans. When they come, they are often so simple that human beings cannot - or will not - comprehend them.

Scott Summers was very rarely attracted to other men, but he could not deny he was occasionally interested in them, as much as he would have liked to. His telepathic girlfriend, Jean, had told him that such feelings were perfectly normal, and that many people were "bisexual", as she put it. The very term, the thought of being labeled like that, made Scott shudder. He'd never even so much as kissed another man, and he had no intention of starting. Jean supported him, fulfilled him, so he rarely had to put much thought into it.

Except for the time he got a little too close to Bobby Drake.

Scott sat next to Bobby on the floor of his workshop. Like everything else in his life, Scott kept it obsessively clean and well-organized, literally twitching if he found so much as a screwdriver out of place. He'd just finished a class, and the students were leaving, all except Bobby, who remained to help him, as always, handing Scott the ratchet so he could finish his newest motorcycle - his blood still boiled when he thought of the one Logan had stolen. He ignored Johnny Allerdyce's weak crack about some television show to Rogue on their way out.

Bobby snorted at the joke, a dimpled grin splitting his boyish face. "C'mon, Mr. Summers, that was funny. Where's your sense of humor?"

Scott continued to turn the ratchet without a change of expression as he said, "I'm keeping it in the closet with all the other things I'm trying to hide, like the set of golf clubs I never use, Jean's romantic comedy collection, a dead body, and my personality."

Bobby laughed appreciatively. "That was a good one, Mr. Summers."

Scott's lips quirked. When his fingers brushed over Bobby's as he handed over the ratchet, he had the sudden impulse to lean over and kiss him. He got close enough that Bobby froze, brilliant blue eyes fluttering half-shut and his lips slightly parting, but then Scott was leaning back, holding up a polishing cloth to cover himself. He adjusted his sunglasses, trying to pretend he hadn't just leaned within kissing distance of one of his students. For one strange moment, Scott even thought Bobby looked disappointed.

Much to his dismay and without being asked, Jean later told him with a disapproving frown that Bobby had been. Scott buried the desire with the rest of his unwanted emotions, leaving him only with a slight feeling of guilt that grew worse every time he saw Bobby smile at Rogue like a lovesick polar bear.

In that moment of clarity, Scott realized Rogue and Logan had another thing in common.

. . .

**Title:** The Forest for the Trees  
**Timeline:** Takes place several months after the second movie.

. . .

Bobby found Scott sitting by the window in the large, richly decorated library, as usual. It struck him as incredibly sad that this man he'd considered so strong, so unshakeable, spent most of his free time staring out of a window lately. Scott did not cry, had never cried, and Bobby wondered if Scott was even capable of it. Maybe his force beams prevented tears from coming out, or maybe if they did, they'd be stained red, whether from blood or from something else.

The fact that Scott was currently staring at a forest full of pine trees while no doubt mourning the loss of his long-time girlfriend, Jean Grey, almost made Bobby laugh. He managed to choke it back just as Scott turned to him, frowning. His hair was a mess, and he hadn't shaved properly in a while, but he still looked good. Bobby felt a little uncomfortable under Scott's gaze, though, of course, he couldn't see his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was because of his sense of humor, or because of how intense he imagined Scott's eyes were behind those sunglasses he always wore.

"Hello, Mr. Summers," said Bobby, holding up a plate full of sandwiches and a couple bottles of root beer. "I brought you lunch."

Scott turned away, studying the snow-capped pine trees in the distance again. "Thank you, Bobby, but I'm not hungry."

Bobby internally congratulated himself for managing to get six words out of Scott. It was more than anyone else had managed outside the classroom. Bobby wondered if Rogue would be proud of him, until he remembered she wasn't talking to him anymore, not after The Remy Incident. It still annoyed him that she was blaming him for her flirting with that sneaky Cajun, who'd run off with some of the Professor's valuables, even though they'd tried to help him. Not to mention she still flirted with Logan, too.

Though, if he was going to be honest with himself, Bobby was most frustrated by his inability to touch her. He sighed, pulling his mind off Rogue and back to Scott. No one except the Professor was bothering with him anymore, and that didn't seem right. Just because the man was in pain and kept shoving people away didn't mean he deserved to be ignored.

"Pining," muttered Bobby.

To his great horror, Scott spun around, apparently hearing him. If visible, Bobby imagined his eyes would have been flashing. "What?" he asked, looking dangerous, despite the fact that he wore a brown turtleneck sweater. Bobby had thought no one could look intimidating in a turtleneck until he'd met Logan and wasn't thrilled to find out Scott could give Logan a run for his money in the wrong sort of mood.

"I said, those sure are a lot of pine trees," Bobby said loudly, forcing a smile.

Scott relaxed only slightly. "Right."

"So," said Bobby, determined not to give up yet, "lunch? I made it myself. You won't find colder cold cuts anywhere."

"Surprisingly enough, I'm not any hungrier than I was a minute ago when you first asked."

Bobby grinned. That was closer to the Scott he knew best, full of dry wit and slightly antisocial behavior. "Technically, Mr. Summers, I didn't ask the first time. And it was actually about three minutes ago. Then we had two minutes of awkward silence while you decided the trees were more interesting than I am."

Scott stared at him, but said nothing.

Bobby sighed. "This is the part where you tell me I'm more interesting than the trees."

"You're certainly more talkative."

"Wow, Mr. Summers. That hurt."

"Look, Bobby, I don't wish to be rude -"

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Summers," interrupted Bobby, moving over to one of the tables. He swept a stack of books aside and set down the plate of sandwiches he'd made. "And I totally concede that you obviously have a thing for pine trees -" In fact, Scott didn't just pine for Jean, he forested for her. "- but you've got to eat. Unlike those pine trees, I make sandwiches and provide sparkling conversation, all without being sappy."

Bobby almost passed out when he saw Scott's lips twitch. "I don't like ham," said Scott.

"Well, since these are bologna and processed American cheese, there's no problem. You'll find only the finest ingredients here at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning."

Scott looked down, folding his hands behind his back. His voice was soft when he spoke, as was his hair as it fell across his forehead. "Bobby, you don't have to do this."

Bobby was silent for a moment, then chilled one of the bottles of root beer he'd brought and handed it to Scott. "Yes, I do. My brother hates me. My parents keep asking if there's a way to 'cure' being a mutant. I lost my best friend. My girlfriend isn't much of a girlfriend, and it's not even her fault. And more than just you lost Miss Grey. I like you, Mr. Summers. I know it's hard, but you can't just give up."

Scott stared down at the root beer, his brow furrowed. Bobby's gaze caught on his mouth when he licked his lips, tongue sliding over pink flesh. "I know. I'm needed. I have to -"

"Mr. Summers," interrupted Bobby again, forcing himself to stop staring at Scott's mouth, to stop wondering how weird it would be to kiss him, "I'm not doing this because I or anyone else needs you. You're already doing all your duties. I'm here because I'm trying to be your friend."

"I'm your teacher, not your friend."

"I'm eighteen now, and Professor Xavier just talked to me about joining the main X-Men team, so that might not be for much longer. So... chill, okay?" Bobby grinned and turned the contents of his own bottle of root beer into slush, then took a swig of it.

He was pleased to find Scott was actually smiling back when he lowered the bottle.

. . .

**Title:** No Learning Curves  
**Timeline:** Takes place almost a year after the second movie.

. . .

Bobby was disappointed that there was no ceremony; he'd expected at least some sort of cake, perhaps with buttercream icing and a sparkling candle. Silly, childish, and irrational though that expectation might have been, it was there. Instead, all he got was Scott, ruby quartz visor on his face, pointing at him as he walked into the sitting room.

"Suit up. We're leaving. Now." Scott's voice was audible even over the blare of the soap opera the girls were watching, though he hadn't shouted.

Ignoring the excited looks from Jubilee and Rogue, Bobby flew up to his room, ransacked his small closet, and slipped on the black leather suit that marked him an X-Man. Professor Xavier had given it to him just two weeks ago and told him that he could join the team at any point, as soon as Scott felt he was ready, but considering the frown on Scott's face whenever Bobby walked out of training sessions, Bobby had figured that wouldn't be for another decade. Despite his difficulties with his zipper and a momentary pause to make sure his hair looked all right, Bobby made it down to the basement in under ten minutes, finding Scott, Ororo, and Logan standing in the polished, sterile hallway, waiting for him. Trying to describe the feeling in his stomach as "butterflies" would have been an understatement, as it felt more like a flock of birds trying to escape.

"Let's go," said Scott, turning on his heel the moment Bobby appeared. He headed down the side hallway that Bobby knew led straight to the hangar where the Blackbird was kept.

Bobby licked his lips, trying to contain the flock of birds in his stomach. He straightened his shoulders and tilted his head back, though he had to jog a little to catch up. Logan trailed behind Scott and Ororo, a stogie dangling from his lips. The smoke curled and wafted upwards, obscuring his harsh features and dark, wild hair.

Knowing that Scott was as likely to tell Bobby what was going on as Logan was to start extolling the virtues of tofu, Bobby decided to ask Logan as they walked down the hallways. "So, um, am I part of the team now?"

Logan glanced at him. "Nah. We were gonna take you to the state fair, ride the Ferris wheel, maybe have some snow cones -"

"If you bring the syrup, I'll bring the ice."

"Cut the chit-chat," snapped Scott.

Logan popped out one of his razor-sharp adamantium claws and scratched lightly at his neck. "Just tell me where your chit-chat is, and I'll be happy to cut it for you."

Bobby considered this a good sign. Logan hadn't made a smart comment like that to Scott since Jean had died. Scott only glanced back, and one didn't need to see through his visors to tell he was glaring. "I gave my chit-chat to charity years ago, along with my small talk." This was another good sign. Scott would have just ignored sarcasm after Jean's death. He'd got his sense of humor back now, or whatever passed for it.

"That explains a lot about you, Cyke."

"This is going to be a fast and dirty mission," said Scott, turning back to the front as they reached the thick metal doors emblazoned with an "X" symbol leading to the underground hangar. It slid open after a moment, revealing the sleek, polished Blackbird in the center of the darkened hangar. It was Scott's fastest and favorite ride. Bobby would never get over the fact that the most repressed and controlled man he knew was actually a speed freak.

"Oooh, I love quickies. Did anyone bring protection?" quipped Bobby, grinning until Logan quirked an eyebrow at him. Scott shook his head, and Ororo just massaged her temples. "Sorry," he mumbled. Well, _he'd_ thought it was funny.

Scott continued to march - there was no other way to describe the way he walked, even if it wasn't marching in the technical sense - towards the Blackbird. The huge flight deck lit up systematically as they entered, row by row of the lights on the ceiling turning on, and the hatch door on the side of the Blackbird popped open with a hiss as Scott pointed a small remote at it.

"Remy LeBeau, otherwise known as Gambit, has been found and arrested for petty thievery - again. Unfortunately, he is a registered mutant, and we need to get him out of that prison before he comes to harm," said Scott, monotone as ever. But then, why would he care about Bobby's issues with Remy? Not that Bobby had really discussed them.

Bobby winced, remembering how Remy and Rogue had flirted the last time Remy had been at the mansion, before he'd run off with the Professor's jewelry. It wasn't like Bobby hadn't flirted with other girls - or guys - but it had still bothered him. He liked Rogue quite a lot, and things were already difficult enough with her. There was only so deep a relationship could go with a girl he couldn't touch for more than ten seconds before passing out. Maybe that made him shallow, but that was how he felt. He wanted more, she couldn't give it to him, and that made him feel guilty for wanting it in the first place. Thinking about his frustrations with Rogue gave him a whole new feeling in his stomach, one not related to butterflies or birds, but more like poisonous snakes wriggling around.

"Are you coming, Bobby?" asked Ororo.

Bobby realized all three of the senior X-Men were staring at him expectantly, standing in front of the Blackbird's entrance. He hesitated, looking directly at Scott. He wanted Scott to say it, to validate him, to admit they were equals. "Am I on the team now?" he asked.

"Of course you are," said Ororo with one of her dazzling smiles.

To Bobby's disappointment, Scott walked up the ramp and into the Blackbird without even looking at him.

. . .

One jailbreak, five unconscious prison guards, two ice walls, three unexplained weather phenomena, eighteen sliced open metal bars, four blasted doors, and one mutant thief later, Bobby collapsed onto a kitchen chair next to Scott, feeling as if he'd just tried to build a mountain out of ice.

The kitchen was as bright and picturesque as ever; it was Bobby's favorite room in the whole mansion for that very reason. He often sat in it when he couldn't sleep, and he was sort of pleased to find Scott there.

Scott edged his steaming coffee mug away from Bobby. "It's hot, and I want it to stay hot," he muttered, and sipped at it. Bobby resisted the urge to freeze it just as the liquid poured over Scott's tongue.

"That was... exhausting," said Bobby. He'd taken a cold shower - hot ones made him sick - and even put on a comfortable white t-shirt and a pair of drawstring pants, but sleep had eluded him when he'd laid in his bed. Nothing relaxed him - not music, not jerking off, nothing. He was dead tired, but adrenaline coursed through him still, and he felt as if his skeleton could burst through his skin at any moment, as he had after the whole misadventure leading up to Alkali Lake. As much progress as Scott had made in the year since Jean's death, Bobby still wasn't going to make the comparison out loud.

"They usually are," said Scott. He had his sunglasses back on, and the dampness of his hair suggested he'd taken a shower as well. Bobby imagined it had been hot, knowing Scott. Perhaps there had been steam, sweat and water rolling off Scott's tanned skin as he'd stood in his shower stall, muscles bunching and rolling as he soaped himself up. Bobby shuddered a little at the thought, small thrills of desire shooting through his back and abdomen. He could easily imagine Scott standing under the shower spray, hands braced against the tiled wall as water poured down his neck, rivulets coursing over his strong back, between his shoulder blades, down the bumpy ridges of his spine to the swell of his -

Bobby ended the fantasy abruptly, remembering Scott was sitting right next to him. He willed away his erection by thinking about Fred Dukes naked. That did the trick quite nicely. Scott pushed a bottle of Dr. Pepper in his direction, and Bobby grabbed it, turning it to slush before taking a swig. He needed to stop thinking about Scott like that. It was crazy. Scott had been his teacher just a few months ago. Scott was older than him by at least ten years. Scott had been dating a woman. Well, Bobby was, too, technically, but he was still attracted to men. Maybe Scott was, too.

_Crazy_. Certi-fucking-fiable. Bobby wanted to smash his forehead into the table, but suspected that might raise a few questions he didn't want to answer.

"Where's LeBeau?" he asked, hoping Scott wouldn't notice his voice was a little higher than normal.

Scott took another sip of his coffee. Bobby took a sniff of the air and realized it was actually tea, not coffee. Some sort of herbal tea, probably from Ororo's stash. "With the Professor," Scott answered after a moment. Though they were sitting next to each other at the center table, Scott stared ahead, as if having a conversation with the wooden cabinets hanging over the counter rather than Bobby. After trying to be Scott's friend for the past few months, Bobby had got used to that. Scott seemed uncomfortable with looking at people for too long for some reason, as if he attached a sort of intimacy to it.

"Oh." Bobby privately hoped the Professor convinced LeBeau he was a small, neutered puppy, but expected that was far too much to hope for. "Where's Logan and Ororo?"

"Sleeping."

"Really? I checked Logan's room on the way down here, and he wasn't in there."

"He's in Ororo's room."

"Oh." Well, that certainly explained Logan's slightly improved attitude of late.

"It's a good way to relieve tension. Happens sometimes after missions. Get used to it."

Bobby wondered if that was how Jean and Scott had first got together, but decided he wasn't brave enough to ask. "Well, if Logan's scooping up Ororo, I guess that leaves me, Kurt, and you to figure out some sort of gay threesome." He kept his tone light, but watched Scott intently for his reaction, studying his lips. He'd never realized how expressive a person's lips could be, until they'd been his only way of determining what little emotion Scott displayed on his face.

As usual, Scott gave away nothing but slight tension. "And Piotr," Scott said, ignoring the joke altogether, apparently. Bobby and Piotr weren't close, but it had been no surprise when Colossus had joined the main X-Men team six months ago. He and Nightcrawler were still in Japan, dealing with a situation involving some sort of fire-powered mutant there.

"I think Rogue and Kitty will probably join soon, too, so you won't be so alone," Scott added. He made no comment about how Johnny would have either already joined or have been at Bobby's side that day. Thinking about Johnny hurt, an old, dull ache in Bobby's chest that he shoved away. At least Scott respected Bobby's sore spots as much as Bobby did his. Bobby wondered if they'd ever be comfortable enough around each other to broach the subjects of dead girlfriends and traitorous best friends.

Bobby thought again of Rogue, of their relationship. They hardly spoke anymore, though they were always together. They watched television, they even watched each other masturbate, but they never seemed to talk. Worse, Bobby knew it was his fault, not hers. She'd try to talk to him, but he'd just shrug his shoulders at her most of the time. He didn't have Johnny to talk to anymore, and conversations with Scott were touch and go, depending mostly on Scott's mood. Bobby seemed to have the worst luck with people - parents who didn't know what to do with him, a brother who hated him, a girlfriend he couldn't touch, a best friend who'd abandoned him to hang out with a murderer, and a former-teacher-sorta-kinda-maybe-friend who apparently couldn't relate to human emotions. Bobby wondered if he should consider a new cologne or something.

Scott just sipped at his tea, staring at the opposite wall, or at least presumably so, since he was facing that direction. Even with his sunglasses on, he was wearing a hole into the cabinets. Bobby studied them for a moment, found nothing interesting about them, then turned back to Scott, studying his chiseled profile for a while.

"Me and Rogue, we're not so hot lately," said Bobby suddenly, deciding he might as well try a real conversation, if no other reason than to say he had.

"Nothing's hot with you, right?"

Bobby took a sip of his Dr. Pepper, stung. He and Scott were supposed to be friends - or at least two guys who hung out and talked about motorcycles and cars and the latest mutant news - but they never talked about anything personal. Scott never let anyone close lately. Couldn't Scott see that Bobby sometimes wanted to talk about things that had to do with their lives? Trying to be friends with someone and never sharing anything personal wasn't even really a friendship.

"I'm sorry. Reflex sarcasm," Scott said after a moment, and turned to Bobby. His lips were soft now, pulled into a more concerned expression. "What's the problem?"

Bobby looked back, finding it both overwhelming and gratifying to have Scott look at him. He wondered what Scott's eyes looked like, how they were shaped, what color they'd be. It was frustrating to never be able to see another person's eyes. Humans relied on them so much to understand what the other person was feeling, but Scott could never convey all his emotions, even if he wanted to - at least not without knocking someone through a few walls with his optic beams. Bobby wondered if it frustrated Scott as much as it did him.

"Just... stupid teenager stuff, I guess. Having a girlfriend you can't touch... it's like..." Bobby licked his lips again, watching as little trails of frost etched up the side of the bottle he was holding, freezing his Dr. Pepper over. "It's shallow, and I do really like her. I mean, I don't care, but I do, and I... you know?"

"Sometimes we all need human touch. We need to know the other person is there. It's understandable. If you think it's hard for you, imagine how she feels."

"I do, that's why... I get angry at myself, and then I get angry at her because I'm angry at me, and then I'm angry at me for _that_. It's kinda messed up between us right now."

Scott nodded and looked down at his tea. "You're human. We all are. Sometimes we need to be touched."

Bobby's hand moved of its own accord, before he could even think about it. He touched Scott's forearm, lightly wrapping his fingers around it, the arm hair slightly rough under his palm, though the skin beneath it was smooth. Scott was so warm, as if he had a fever. It felt dangerous, like trying to disarm a bomb without any idea if it was the red or the blue wire that needed to be cut, but Bobby liked it. Scott tensed at the touch, his lips parting in surprise.

"So... you're admitting you're human, too?" asked Bobby, his tone much quieter and more serious than he intended.

"You're so cold," whispered Scott, not answering the question, as was typical of him. "I know Jean -" Scott's voice caught on her name. "- said your body temperature is normally ten degrees below normal, but it's strange to actually feel it."

"You're hot." Scott snapped back to face him, and Bobby involuntarily swallowed. "I mean, your skin, it's hot."

"I absorb ambient solar energy to fuel my optic beams. I retain the energy as a form of heat. It makes my body temperature a few degrees above normal."

An uncomfortable silence hung between them, but Bobby was undaunted. The warmth of Scott's skin seemed to spread through Bobby's body, right down to his toes and up to the tips of his hair, but it was a welcome warmth. Bobby leaned a little closer, eyes intent on Scott's full lips, the set of his square jaw, the corded muscles of his neck where they disappeared into his faded green t-shirt.

"Do you... ever relieve tension after a mission?" Bobby asked softly, surprised his tongue hadn't twisted into knots as he'd asked the question. His stomach certainly had.

There was one breathless moment, where Scott moved a little closer, and Bobby thought he might just answer with something meaningful, and everything inside Bobby suddenly welled up, as if he were about to explode, but then Scott jerked away, standing up, and everything inside Bobby just faded back to the corners of himself where it all belonged.

"Tea's cold," Scott said in a completely normal voice.

Bobby stared down at his Dr. Pepper. The entire bottle was encased in ice now. "I had nothing to do with that," he said dully, disappointed, his stomach still clenching and unclenching. That had been stupid. And crazy. Couldn't forget the crazy part.

"I'm going to head to bed anyway. See you later... Iceman. Good work today."

Scott lowered his mug into the sink and rinsed it out. Bobby would never figure Scott out, he just knew it. It wasn't until Scott shuffled out of the kitchen, running his fingers through his thick brown hair, that Bobby realized Scott had finally acknowledged him as an X-Man. And even paid him a compliment.

Bobby bitterly reflected that if Hell had frozen over, it totally wasn't his fault this time.

. . .

**Title:** Drive  
**Timeline:** Takes place exactly a year after the second movie.

. . .

"I think you should slow down."

Scott acted as if he couldn't hear Bobby, shifting gears to maintain his speed of ninety miles an hour. Bobby glanced at the speedometer on Scott's new car, horrified to discover Scott was going faster as the digital readout started to climb closer and closer to a hundred. Bobby clutched the plastic bar over the passenger side door, white-knuckled and vaguely nauseous. He wasn't a speed freak like Scott. He liked being safe and comfortable, not racing through the back roads of Westchester, New York as if hell itself chased behind him.

"Scott!" Still no response. "Mr. Summers!" To Bobby's exasperation, Scott only shifted gears again in answer, breaking the hundred mark, trees blurring past the windows of his tricked-out red Mazda.

Bobby gripped the bar tighter, his hand aching. He felt like he'd left his stomach back at the mansion. Scott took a curve, barely slowing. The car fishtailed as he rounded the forest-lined bend, and for a pulse-pounding second, Bobby thought they were going to crash into a pine tree head-on until Scott regained control, spinning the wheel to continue down the road, still at a hundred miles an hour. Scott's expression didn't change, and if he blinked, his sunglasses hid it.

"You're going to get us killed!" cried Bobby. "Is that how you're going to honor Miss Grey's sacrifice? By smashing us into a tree?"

"You chose to come along for the ride. Deal with it."

Bobby stared at Scott, but his expression was still set in stone, dull unhappiness carved into every classic feature. He'd forgotten to shave again, and his dark hair was a mess. Scott shifted gears again, and Bobby felt the car rush even faster. It was dark, and tall trees rose on either side of the narrow road, moonlight scattered by the leaves. Bobby swallowed. He'd insisted on coming with Scott because he'd been concerned, having come to the conclusion Scott shouldn't have been alone on the anniversary of Jean Grey's death. Now he was more concerned whether they were going to survive the road trip.

Up ahead, a red traffic light gleamed at a small intersection. Scott wasn't slowing down. Bobby glanced from him to the red light. "Scott!" he shouted. Scott didn't react. Bobby's heart leapt into his throat.

They were going to die.

Determined to make it to his nineteenth birthday, Bobby took off his seatbelt and threw himself over Scott, forcing his foot off the gas pedal. Scott struggled, grinding out an incoherent protest as Bobby froze his legs in place, then jammed a block of ice over the brake pedal. Tires screeching and gears protesting, the car barreled towards the intersection. A large semi-truck was headed right to them, and Bobby pressed the brake pedal even harder, praying to God, Allah, Buddha, Satan, Zeus, anyone willing to save him.

Scott went limp under him, and Bobby's life flashed before his eyes. He discovered it was both woefully short and relatively boring. He smelled burnt rubber.

The car stopped just past the white intersection line with a great jolt that send him into the dashboard, pain shooting through his lower back. The oncoming truck swerved to the right, loudly honking its horn. Bobby could hear the driver cursing them out as he drove past.

Bobby peeled himself off the dashboard, his back protesting. He was definitely going to regret this in the morning. He realized his ice had shattered when he'd been tossed around, but Scott's foot was now planted firmly on the brake pedal. Bobby didn't have to see Scott's eyes to know the older man was glaring at him.

"I was about to stop," said Scott, his voice monotone, yet the edge as was as dangerous as anything Wolverine snarled out.

"Yeah, well, you sure as hell could have fooled me."

Bobby tried to back away from Scott, but fingers closed around his arm, dragging him closer. "Don't you ever do that again, Drake. You were the one who almost got us both killed."

"Me? You're the one driving around like some crazed lunatic!" Bobby swallowed, ignoring how close Scott's face was. He could feel Scott's breath on his cheek. "I only came because I was worried about you. You're out of control!"

"I'm never out of control."

"Maybe that's the problem!"

One moment Bobby was struggling to get out of Scott's grasp, intent on getting out of the car so he could find a phone booth and ask Logan for a ride home, and then next Scott's lips were pressed against his. Bobby froze, despite being warmer than he could ever recall. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was hard and demanding. Scott's fingers wound through his hair, Scott's sunglasses dug into his cheek, Scott's tongue slid against his. It was hot and controlled, just like Scott, but there was something powerful behind it. Before Bobby could register he should either kiss back or push Scott away or at least react somehow, Scott had pushed him back into the passenger sheet.

Scott turned back to face forward. The light had turned green, so he slowly crossed the intersection, barely going past thirty miles an hour now. Bobby stared at him, trying to get an expression, a feeling, at least a glimmer of why Scott had just shoved his tongue into Bobby's mouth, but there was no expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," Scott finally said, making a u-turn in the middle of the darkened road, heading back to the mansion.

"Don't be," said Bobby. "You can do that any time you want. Without the Nascar impression first, preferably." When Scott glanced at him, Bobby thought the part of Scott's lips might have been surprise.

Bobby touched his own lips, still feeling Scott's kiss and the warmth of his skin there, and smiled. Scott turned away, but the corners of his mouth had turned up just the slightest bit.

Scott never broke sixty miles an hour on the way home.

. . .

**Title:** Maybe Later  
**Timeline:** Takes place over a year after the end of the second movie.

. . .

There was nothing wild about the way Scott kissed, but it wasn't particularly tame, either. He shoved Bobby into a wall inside the mansion one late afternoon without warning, tongue plundering Bobby's mouth. Bobby stroked Scott's face, his fingers trailing through Scott's thick bangs, over the plastic of Scottss sunglasses, to the rough bristles of hair along Scott's jaw. This felt dangerous, but it was controlled - like Scott himself.

Bobby closed his eyes, savoring the feel of Scott's lips. Scott's hands ran over Bobby's flanks, pressing him further against the wall, a thigh nudging its way between Bobby's thighs. Bobby's stomach twisted when he realized they were in the middle of the hall. What if someone showed up?

Scott pulled back without even being asked. He was still pressed against Bobby, chest rising and falling heavily in counter rhythm. "This is insane," he whispered.

"It was your idea."

"That's what makes it even more insane. I should know better."

The sound of voices down the hall made Bobby's blood run cold, but Scott quickly backed off. He stood against the opposite wall, not looking at Bobby. Jubilee and Kitty walked between them, too wrapped up in the glitter-covered objects in their shopping bags to notice them. Bobby watched them drift down the hallway and thought of Rogue, of how he'd yet to explain to her that he'd spent the past two months occasionally making out with Scott. It didn't seem quite real. He wasn't sure if there was even a point to telling her. It was like he only had half of a relationship with either her and Scott.

Scott suddenly started silently walking away. Bobby hurried after him, almost asking him where he was going, what he was thinking, why he'd kissed Bobby, but Bobby couldn't speak. Scott stopped by a door, grasping the handle so tightly his knuckles turned white. Bobby fell silent when he realized it was Scott's bedroom. He turned to leave. Scott had never let anything between them get past the waistline, and Bobby wasn't sure if he even wanted it to. It was a big step, going from a girl to a man. It wasn't like Bobby was gay. This was just a weird attraction, and he -

A hand grasped Bobby's arms, fingers sliding over the woven fabric of his shirt. Bobby looked up, staring into Scott's face, his stomach twisting again, but this was a different feeling, a feeling of warmth - and warmth wasn't something Bobby normally felt.

"You can come in, if you want." Scott sounded hoarse. If Bobby didn't know better, he'd have thought Scott was nervous.

"I..." Bobby licked his lips, still tasting Scott, and stared at Scott's bedroom door. "I've never done this. At least not with another guy before."

"Neither have I."

Some of the tension drained out of Bobby at that statement. "All right."

Scott relaxed the slightest bit, pushing his door open, and pulled Bobby inside with him. Bobby took a deep breath.

The room was dark, but inviting, Scott's bed wide and neatly made. Bobby felt like his stomach was tap-dancing over his large intestines, and he shuddered, heat racing up his arm where Scott touched him.

"So what are we?" asked Bobby as Scott kicked the door closed behind them.

Scott's Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. He brought Bobby closer, fingers sliding over his forearms. Bobby wished again that he could see Scott's eyes, but at least he could see a dull red glow behind Scott's shaded lenses. The closer Bobby got to Scott, the more he felt like he was walking into a sauna, without the accompanying nausea that most heat gave him.

"I don't know," Scott finally answered. "We could find out."

"When?"

"Now. Later." Scott was holding his arms tightly, enough to hurt. "Look, I don't know what you want from me."

"Well, I don't know what you want from me. When we talk, it's never about... you know. Important things. There's certain subjects we've both made off-limits. Like Johnny. And Miss Grey."

"So you want to talk about Pyro and Jean?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just..." Bobby stared at Scott's neck, how the curve of his collarbone peeked out from over the collar of his green shirt. He had the strangest desire to lean over and lick it. Before he thought better of it, Bobby's tongue was sliding out over the stretch of salty flesh over bone.

Scott hissed, but didn't draw away. He stood frozen until Bobby drew back and looked up into his face, waiting, though he didn't know for what.

"Girls always want you to talk to them before they let you touch them," said Bobby.

"I'm not a girl. And neither are you."

"No. But I'd like to think, at least sometimes, that I'm your friend. I mean, would this -" Bobby gestured at Scott's bed. "- change that?" He winced at his own question and vowed never to watch the Lifetime channel again.

"Do you want it to?"

"I... don't know."

"Looks like neither of us know much, then."

"I mean, I don't have a problem if all this is just..." Bobby steeled his nerves to say it. "... sex. I guess I just wanted a definition or a boundary or something."

Scott looked over at his window. The blinds were drawn, but strips of light filtered in. "I can't give you any of those things yet."

Bobby realized it was now or never, and he didn't want to walk out of Scott's room without having had an orgasm. "Maybe later," he whispered.

"Maybe later," Scott agreed, edging him towards the bed. Bobby shuddered again, ignoring the nervous flutter in his stomach, and started to undo Scott's belt.

It was insane, but when Scott pushed him onto the bed, hands sliding under his clothes and over his skin, Bobby thrilled at each stroke of Scott's fingers. Bobby decided they needed a little more insanity in their life.

. . .

**Title:** Something  
**Timeline:** Takes place a year and a half after the second movie.

. . .

Scott sat by his new red Ducati, carefully polishing the outer shell, making sure it was in pristine condition. The garage was bright and smelled of oil - one of Scott's favorite smells. The radio played some whiny rock song that Bobby would no doubt appreciate far more than he would, though Scott hummed along to it all the same. He felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.

The door opened behind him, but Scott didn't have to turn to know it was Bobby. He could smell his cologne, competing with the oil for dominance. Had Bobby bathed in it? It was a store brand, popular, but overly trendy. When Scott glanced behind him, Bobby wore clothes to match: some sort of shimmery blue shirt and dark blue cargo pants. His hair was styled in such a way that he looked like he'd walked right out of a magazine, especially with those uncannily bright blue eyes of his. Scott was perfectly happy in cardigans and turtlenecks, but Bobby wasn't happy unless he was "cool," even in the more colloquial sense.

"I, um, told Rogue. About us."

Scott licked his lips, his stomach dropping. He didn't really want anyone in the mansion to know he had any sort of relationship, no matter how casual, much less one with a younger man, but Rogue deserved to know why Bobby was breaking up with her. Not that Bobby had really been seeing Rogue much lately. As Scott recalled, Bobby had been spending a lot of time with Scott, either on missions, in the Danger Room, or in Scott's room. They had sex more often than they talked, but Scott supposed that still counted as some sort of relationship. Bobby had felt the need to officially end things with Rogue, and Scott hadn't objected to Bobby being honest. Besides, with all the telepaths in the mansion, lies never lasted long.

"How did she take it?" Scott asked, as casually as he could, which wasn't very.

"As well as could be expected. She wasn't surprised that I was breaking up with her. Or even that I'm with another guy." Bobby sounded a little bitter over that, but Scott's lips twitched. Bobby did have that ambisexual sort of look. "She was more surprised that I'm with, you know... you."

Scott nodded, wiping the side of his Ducati. He hadn't quite got used to the idea of sleeping with another man on a regular basis, but he was getting there. Long nights spent with Bobby's cool skin under his hands were quickly teaching him to stop caring so much what others thought. It wasn't their business, in any case.

Bobby was silent for a moment, then: "I mean. We are together, right? At least, sorta? I'm totally not talking about anything serious, just wondering if we're actually... you know. Something."

"We're..." Scott turned to face Bobby, licking his lips as he considered how to answer. Bobby looked as nervous and tense as he felt.

Scott wasn't sure how he felt about Bobby yet. He didn't feel anything for him nearly as intently or powerfully as he had for Jean, but he did feel something for the youth. There was definitely something between them, and Scott wasn't opposed to exploring that. It was nice to have someone around, someone who understood. Bobby had a great sense of humor, and Scott liked his easy-going, safe manner.

"We're something," Scott admitted.

Bobby grinned, dimples flashing. "Cool."

"Most things with you usually are."

"That joke is wearing thinner than Kitty Pryde on a diet, Scott. Please, for the love of God, find some new material, or I'll freeze your underwear to your skin."

Scott actually chuckled. He never thought anything could make him laugh again after Jean's death, but Bobby had proved him wrong numerous times. Bobby had helped Scott pick up the pieces of his life, made him remember that it was still worth living. Jean had always had a hand on Scott's shoulder, keeping him balanced, making him happy. Bobby wasn't her replacement, but he still did a nice job of filling the void in Scott's life. Scott was glad they were a "something," though he didn't really know how to express that in so many words.

Well, there was one way.

"Wanna ride?" asked Scott, tapping the seat of his bike.

"Can I drive?"

Scott's expression was apparently answer enough. "Okay, okay. I'll sit behind you," said Bobby with a slight pout.

Scott dropped his polishing cloth and straddled the bike. After a moment, Bobby climbed up behind him. He felt cool against Scott's back as he wrapped his arms around him, though he still managed to make Scott feel warm. Scott decided that Bobby was definitely spending the night with him later.

"We can go full speed once we hit the road," offered Scott as he turned the bike on, the pleasing rumble of the engine vibrating his seat. Scott gripped the handles, thinking that he wasn't going to waste any time in peeling Bobby's clothes off once they got back to his room.

"Oh, please don't," said Bobby in a small voice, pressing his cheek against Scott's back and holding on tight. Scott rocketed out of the garage and onto the private road outside the mansion, but slowed down when he heard Bobby whimpering.

"Which direction?" asked Scott, stopping once they reached the main road. The cool night air was crisp and clean, the smell of pine and woods filling Scott's nose. He sat up a little straighter, feeling more alert.

Bobby rested his chin on Scott's shoulder. "Wherever you want to go is fine by me."

It seemed to Scott that Bobby's answer applied to their relationship as much as choosing a direction. Scott throttled the engine and turned right onto the road, amused by the metaphor. He drove fast, but with Bobby he took it slow, because he knew it would last longer that way.

The ride would be worth it.

_The End._


End file.
